


It's You.

by that_one_friend (jikooties)



Category: GOT7
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, I don't know, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, basically i hate myself, good luck, i suck at tags for stuff like this, i think, im so sorry, it came to me randomly, this is just a short thing, whatever, you could probably consider it happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:29:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jikooties/pseuds/that_one_friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, fate doesn't play on our side. Sometimes, we have to deal with that. Sometimes, we get our redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> This literally came to me in a dream which means I wrote quick notes at the ass-crack of dawn when I woke up so I apologize for any suckage.

_“I had no idea you hadn’t told them yet, I’m so sorry.”_

_Jackson meant it, Mark knew that. He knew Jackson didn’t mean to out him to his parents, he knew he didn’t know they’d disown him. Hell, even_ Mark _didn’t know they’d disown him. They just didn’t seem like that kind of people._

_But they were._

_“I know. I know you didn’t,” Mark said, just barely concealing his tears, just barely being able to talk around the lump that sat, heavy as a fucking mountain, in the centre of his throat, “I should’ve told you not to say anything. I should’ve known what they’d do when they found out. It’s my fault.”_

_And he knew Jackson would hate that he was blaming himself, but really, who else could've caused this to happen?_

_He felt Jackson’s arms snake around his waist, pulling him flush against the younger’s broad chest. Mark pressed his forehead into the crook of Jackson’s neck, inhaling deeply to try and collect his thoughts. He brought his arms up to sit atop Jackson’s shoulders before he spoke again._

_“Have you ever thought about,” Mark paused, not exactly knowing how he’d word his question, “I don’t know, just leaving?”_

_He could practically feel the confused look he knew Jackson was wearing right then._

_“You know,” Mark continued, “skipping town, going to university in a new place, meeting new people, just for the hell of it? I mean, we’re just barely adults, how can you know that everything you’ve ever wanted isn’t in fucking Vietnam or something?”_

_“I don’t need to fly my ass all the way around the world searching for something that’s standing right here in this kitchen. I’m not missing anything by staying by your side, and I wouldn’t ever think I was. My forever isn’t some random guy in a club in London or a barista in a café in France, it’s you. It’ll always be you,” Jackson murmured into Mark’s hair. Mark couldn’t help but giggle at his words, because what a disgustingly cliché thing to say._

_“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend? Jackson would never say something so grossly cheesy,” Mark teased as he pulled back a bit to look Jackson in the eye._

_Jackson didn’t say anything, merely leaning in to press a sweet kiss to Mark’s lips. A kiss that was, in all honesty, far too short for Mark’s liking, but it left butterflies in his stomach nonetheless._

_That was the thing about Jackson; no matter how long Mark had known him, no matter how long they’d been officially “together”, every kiss felt like their first in that it left Mark reeling._

_They were so hopelessly in love._

***

Mark remembered that day perfectly clearly. He remembered how the light streaming in through their tiny kitchen window had refracted off of Jackson’s hair, giving him a soft, ethereal glow. He remembered how safe he felt wrapped up in Jackson’s arms; he remembered that he felt truly at home. Except home wasn’t the tiny apartment they’d been living in until they’d finally saved enough money for a (barely) larger house, it was Jackson. It was the way he smiled, it was his obnoxiously loud laugh, it was the way he always gave Mark his full attention when he knew he’d had a shitty day at work. Through and through, Jackson was Mark’s home. 

But every home is temporary. 

It had been seven years since Jackson had told Mark they had a future together, seven years since Jackson had erased any doubt Mark had had about if, when, where their lives would diverge. It had been almost four and half years since they’d gotten married: a small ceremony was all they could afford, with only their closest friends and family in attendance. 

It had been just over a year since Jackson had been diagnosed. They tried all kinds of treatments; practiced and experimental alike, but nothing worked. The cancer just wouldn’t give, it spread too fast. 

It had been three weeks since Mark had to bury the love of his life. The wounds were still raw, the memories still fresh, his heart still feeling oddly misplaced, as if Jackson had taken it with him when he'd passed. 

So there he stood, in front of where Jackson would lie forever more, but he did not cry. He’d cried far too often since they’d heard the diagnosis for there to be anything left. 

Mark hated that. 

He hated that he’d given so much to Jackson, and he hated the Jackson had given so much back, and he hated that he couldn’t cry anymore. It wasn’t fair to Jackson for Mark to stand there, where the dirt was still raised, looking as if he felt nothing. As if Jackson’s name was nothing more than words on a stone, as if the name and the voice and the life hadn’t carried any weight in Mark’s heart. As if he wasn’t everything to Mark. 

He hated himself for not being able to do anything. He hated the shock, the fear of _what am I going to do now?_. He hated that he was scared. He hated that he had to grieve. He hated that Jackson had been taken first, and so, so early. 

Most of all, he hated what Jackson had left behind. The memories, the photos, the clothing. Where he’d once left comfort and contentment sat ruin and despair. The remains of a life begged to be lived by the boy that laughed too hard for too long, a life to be experienced and loved by two people who wanted the world not for themselves, but for each other. Hope and ambition had been overtaken by a life that would never and could never be lived. Not the right way, at least. Not without Jackson. 

And so Mark stared down at the short prayer below Jackson’s name as he thought back to the time the two of them had been laying in a beautiful clearing, fingers entwined, and Jackson told Mark of the family he might hope to have someday. He thought back to how proud Jackson had looked when Mark told him he’d make a wonderful father. He thought about how that could never happen now, how utterly unfair it was that they hadn’t had the time. 

He never thought he’d have to say goodbye, not like this. Not at 28 years old, not with only a handful of memories from their time together. 

He didn’t expect sun, either. He’d always associated death with rain, so he figured it’d be only fair if it poured on the day of the funeral, or really, for the full three weeks he’d been visiting the grave. But there was never any rain, only sun. And maybe that was Jackson’s way of showing Mark he was still with him, that he was still trying to give him the best times, the brightest days. Maybe that was Jackson, wherever he was, saying he was sorry for the hell he’d put Mark through in his final year, even though it couldn’t possibly have been in his power to change their situation. 

Finally, like he had been liberated by whatever metaphorical chains had been holding him back for the past three weeks, he found it in himself to let the tears fall. Since the day he’d found Jackson, unable to wake, he’d not cried. He had been numb. But finally, _finally_ , he felt he could grieve properly. 

So he wept for the love he’d lost, the life that Jackson had lost, the memories they shared, and the memories they could’ve made. He sat for what felt like hours, slumped over the mound of earth that held what was once his future beneath it as a miserable chorus of “I love you”s and “I miss you”s ran through his head over and over again. 

When he finally stood, when his legs shook and his stomach lurched but he still wasn’t quite ready to leave, he realized he needed something else. He needed to _say_ something else, an agreement they’d both come to long before a proposal or a family had been an idea, an agreement that may have come to them far before they’d managed the courage to vocalize it and let it hang in the air between them. His voice wobbled and broke and he felt like he was suffocating every time he tried to send the words into the wind, to ears that would no longer hear his declarations, but he found strength and even comfort in the words he’d once heard. 

_It’s you._

“It’s always been you, Jackson.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of an afterthought, I guess? You could call it an epilogue or not, whatever you want, but idk.

Mark remarried eventually. 

It took some time to escape the feeling that he’d be betraying Jackson, the man whom he’d sworn was the love of his life, whom he still swore was the love of his life. It took some time to quell the fear that overcame him whenever he found himself becoming close to another man. It took so much time to fall in love again.

But he did, and it terrified him. He knew it wasn’t exactly what he’d felt with Jackson, but he knew he was in love, and there was no running from that. 

He fell in love again, he got married again, he was happy again. He’d found a fantastic man who made a lovely husband, father, and grandfather. A man who spent all the time he could playing with his children and then their grandchildren. And then, as they got older and older, they looked on as their grandchildren played by themselves. 

Mark could undoubtedly say his life was full of memories that stood to remind him of the love he’d lost and a life he’d unearthed from the grim ashes of what he used to call home. 

Because sometimes, home wasn’t four walls and a roof. Sometimes, home was two eyes and heartbeat, where all you needed to feel safe was a pair of arms holding you close when you thought you’d been lost in life’s disastrous hurricane. That’s what Jackson had been: home. He’d always be home. And as much as Mark truly loved his children, his grandchildren, and his husband, he couldn’t deny that Jackson had been first, he’d been easy to fall in love with and hard to let go. He’d been wholly ready to keep Mark grounded and love him unconditionally while Mark was more than ready to return all of that and more, even when he couldn’t anymore. 

His husband understood this, though. He knew that Mark had been so young and vulnerable when he’d met Jackson. He knew how much Mark had loved Jackson, but could only imagine how truly agonizing it must have felt to be so powerless as the person he loved so dearly slipped away, hooked up to machines that served no real purpose, since they couldn't save his life. He’d never be able to understand how terrifying it must have been for Mark when he realized there was nothing left for either of them, and how much courage it must’ve taken to let Jackson go. 

But Mark had lovely memories, at least. And even when his mind started to go and his grandchildren went off to college, he was happy. He’d loved and lost, but he’d loved again and found a new life to live, with new hope, with a new man. A man who truly loved him for everything he was and everything he’d experienced, just as Jackson had done.

So when Mark’s final day came, and he was surrounded by the people he cared about most in the world as he slipped into his final rest, he was content. His missed Jackson so, so much, he really did. But he could see him now, waiting for him. 

With his hand outstretched, Jackson beckoned Mark into peace. Into the life he’d known before. The life he’d shared with a different person, in a different bed in a different home, a seemingly different world. And god, he’d missed him.

So, as Mark closed his eyes one last time, a much younger version of himself – one who was untouchable by any who walk this plane of existence – took Jackson’s hand. And as they walked away from a life they’d shared, but so unfortunately lost before it could even truly start, Jackson uttered one final assurance to the man he had died loving. The last nail in the coffin, as it were, of an agreement that they’d come upon when they were much closer to their youth, when they still believed they could have the world, when all they had was each other. A promise that never really stood as a promise, but rather a declaration of love, of the truth, of the way they felt about each other at that moment, before that moment, and far beyond the final moments they’d shared. A promise that demanded finality:

“It’s still you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings self off nearest bridge*

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr right [here](http://jikooties.tumblr.com) and shoot me questions, requests, recommendations, anon hate, whatever. 
> 
> I'D ALSO LIKE TO ADD:
> 
> It's absolutely NOT my belief that Mark's parents, or any of the other boys' parents, would disown their son if they were gay/bi/pan/other. I don't know these people, I don't know their beliefs, and I CANNOT SPEAK OF THEM ON THEIR BEHALF. This is all just for the purpose of the story, I don't claim to know anything as deep as their morals. Thank you.


End file.
